Real Girls
by Alsike
Summary: Himeko's thoughts after the end of the series. Not fluffy and romantic, but getting into the angsty bits and the strange memories that the main plot mostly ignored.


Real Girls

Real girls are different than fantasies. Real girls are mean, and stupid, and jealous, and hurt you. Real girls don't catch you, and real stairs hurt when there's hundreds of them, steep and stone, and the truth is, you think while lying in bed for the month it takes you to be able to walk them again, that it's actually a good pain. It's a clean pain, stone is like that, it's not a pain on the inside like when your father…

But Souma-kun brought you flowers and promised to take you on a ride on his motorcycle when you're better, and you smile, and you don't tell him that it's his fault you were pushed down the stairs, that he's too nice to you, and that you're scared of his motorcycle because you're scared of yourself and the way you feel when you're going fast and you just want to spin out and crash into a wall and die- die cleanly- blood is clean

And Makoto comes and brings you flowers, and you smile and laugh, and feel so desperately guilty that when she sits on the bed next to you, you lean over and kiss her, on the lips, but like it's an accident, and she blushes furiously, and you catch her hand, and think of one of the lies the girls tell, that kisses are sweet, when you know that they've never been sweet, and you remember them tasting like blood, tasting clean-

Makoto doesn't taste like blood, and neither does Souma-kun when you kiss him on the hill after the motorcycle ride when he's just asked you out, and you don't really know what to say. But neither of them taste dirty either, just innocent and complicated in a way that you can't even remember if you ever understood. But they're both clean people, innocent and forthright and not like you- who won't ever be clean again.

Not that people know this, and that makes it even worse, because you know you smile and laugh to make them think that you're just like them, that you're happy, but you've never been happy, and when real girls cry little sparkles don't fall from their eyes, when you cry your eyes get red and your nose runs and you can't speak no matter how hard you try to force the words out between the overwhelming sobs.

You are happy, at least you think you were at some indefinite moment that was supposed to be a short while ago but feels like centuries. You listen to the silly girls talking about love and how great it is, and how they fantasize about kissing various unattainables- like Souma-kun, so you know you can't jump in and ask them- how can you say that it's good, that it's happy and wonderful, how can you say that love is painless when you know full well that you're deluding yourself- cutting off your fantasy right after the kiss ends, I'VE HAD A WORLD ENDING KISS, and then you stop, because it just came out like that, and you have no idea what you're talking about, but there's some truth there, something that tells you- yes, you were kissed while the world was ending and you tasted blood on someone's lips while you saved it. But that's just it- it was a fantasy- and it was even more painful than real life, and you knew about pain.

You did your best to set up Souma-kun and Makoto, and they became great friends, able to talk about sports together, and all the rest. You won't push any harder, you know that love isn't able to be forced, and that it doesn't heal, it hurts. But friendship can heal, so you think it's for the best when you pack your bags and head for the city, for a university, for somewhere that isn't here, where all these painful memories that aren't really memories but a complex daydream you had once about a world where you weren't alone in all her pictures, but it had gotten out of control and all you can remember is the pain. You thought you might become a writer; you seemed to have the imagination for it, though it would be better to edit out all the mecha before it got too embarrassing. Because the story was about pain, and her complete inability to love someone who didn't want to hurt her…

Daddy…

But the lights changed and the crosswalk started beeping, and you looked up and saw your future and your past and your fantasy, and all you wanted to do was run.

There's a type of girl, who holds herself too straight, and looks around with too stern eyes, and you just wait for her to scold you, and you want to be on your knees with her holding the whip, and you know that you won't be able to deal, because your therapist told you that talking about things helps, and when you told her that you waited up for him- she put you on medication and then started you on a course of training that was supposed to turn you back into a normal human being but only actually made you a nervous wreck when it came to sex, and you know because when that girly-boy from Souma-kun's shrine stopped by your dorm, and you had been crying over your photo album and missing- someone- and… touching yourself, he saw you and you wanted him to just be there, and do something about this pain, but when he pushed you down, just like you wanted him to, you couldn't help but scream, and he was embarrassed, and you didn't want him anymore. You wanted someone who wouldn't care that you were screaming, wouldn't care that it hurt, just shoved some cloth in your mouth and proceeded to fuck you properly, and hurt you in the ways that made you come so hard.

She wasn't clean either, and when she looked at you you could see that she was exactly the person you wanted, but it was difficult to walk up to someone on a crowded street and say- "take me to a love hotel and dominate me." Even if there was nothing you wanted more.


End file.
